The screen blinked a few times, then turned a smoky color which indicated that it had switched to encryption mode. Don Krushinka meticulously inspected the icons dancing around the corners of the screen which indicated that the connection was encrypted and nodded in satisfaction. “Ready to receive.”
From the screen came a drastically changed voice over the decoder.
“Sending information in corpuscular mode. Before the operation, may I remind you that the contents of the information received must be kept only on a crystal decoder and, after the work, do not forget to erase the RAM memory twice.”
“Damn you! Stubborn Bull you are becoming too bureaucratic.” Don Krushinka growled, but then remembered that he was not being addressed by Stubborn Bull.
The faceless voice was recorded on the crystal decoder. This was a standard procedure of the Royal fleet.
Once the information had been received, Don Krushinka immediately put the contents of the received package on display. As he suspected, it turned out to be the plan of operations developed by the know-it-alls from the main headquarters.
Scrolling through it, Don Krushinka could not help himself and snorted in contempt. It was a typical ‘dog & pony show’, a magnificent opus from a highly respected institution in charge of a fleet that hadn’t seen battle in a long time.
It contained many arcane tactics and complex maneuvers that could only occur in an ideal situation, which would be absolutely impossible in a real fight.
He grimaced and took the images off the screen. Then he carefully erased the RAM twice and turned off the console. Leaving the office, he went down to the operations room in the floor below, walked over to Old Fart and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Look here, old man. How long have you all been chatting about this plan of battle?”
“A month or so,” he shrugged his shoulders. “What about it.”
“How is it coming along?”
“As I said before, we’ve got some ideas.” He gave him a searching look and said crossly. “What do you expect from us, if we have no information from the Royal fleet?”
Don Krushinka sighed. “Come with me.”
They went up to his office. Don Krushinka inserted the crystal and listened silently to the instruction regarding the mandatory double cleaning of the RAM, displayed the first page of the fleet headquarters plan, then nodded for Old Fart to sit at his bench, and slapped a pile of paper in front of him.
“Here you go. It is impossible to copy or change this file. The know-it-alls from the headquarters of the fleet have made provisions against that, but they were not smart enough to realize that it could be simply copied from the screen. So, copy down the secret information.” Catching Old Fart’s surprised look, he grinned. “I want a workable plan on my desk in three days.”
With these words, Don Krushinka left the office. In the end, he had only one option - to win the battle for Outpost. Now he finally realized no one except him could do this, and the rest did not matter.
Yet he could not understand how the devil Stubborn Bull had managed to send the plan from on board the corvette at this time, when it could just as easily have been sent from the main headquarters of the fleet, or directly by hand just seven hours after landing.
He could not know that near the Arctic Circle, inconspicuous among a pile of rocks, was the backup contact station for the fleet. There was an officer there with the rank of commander, who had been sitting alone for almost two days in the communications room.
She released the staff on duty, straightened her back, and nodded with satisfaction, staring at the console screen where decrypted text was glowing. The commander rubbed her waist and pressed a few buttons.
The screen rippled, indicating that the text had been encrypted again. The next press of a button compressed the information into a package one millisecond long and sent it to a specific sector of space. Whoever received the beam was of no interest to her. The commander had done her job, and, as she had been promised, she had brought independence for Reymeyk one step closer.
2
The fleet hung over Lusus. Two days ago, the dons’ ships began to ascend from the huge plateau that had been their base for the last two months and gather together in orbit.
In reality, there was no special need to take such a long time to go into orbit, but Don Krushinka was so fascinated by the local forest, that he ordered the takeoff of groups of not more than two dozen ships at a time, with an interval of at least an hour between them, hoping that in this way the damage to the forest would be minimized.
The Royal fleet was on the way, and they had very little time before the rendezvous. Now, however, hope dawned that they could defeat The Enemy. A week ago, when Don Krushinka stood in the broad forest clearing, which had been turned into a landing field for roving shuttles and disc flyers, and watched as Blasco Ninyas landed, skillfully reducing speed, he started to feel dark forebodings again.
When the engines on the corvette stopped and steps were thrown down, Don Krushinka couldn’t help himself and moved forward. Several figures could be seen in the open hatch. Recognizing one of them, Don Krushinka swore irritably. Not waiting until all of them made it to the surface he ran up the steps and grabbed Yv by the sleeve.
“What the hell ...”
“Calm down, Admiral,” interrupted Grey Moustache. “Our friend did everything he could. It isn’t his fault he had to relinquish his duties.”
“His main responsibility was to stay close to Tera. Do you really think that I could not do without a special liaison officer? I need your luck, Lucky, and it needs to be next to Tera.”
“At one time it was useful to her,” he replied sadly.
Don Krushinka stared at him, then his eyes flashed with anxiety. Unceremoniously, he grabbed Yv by the sleeve, pulled him from the steps and hastily dragged him off. When they reached the edge of the clearing, Don Krushinka sat down on a log and looked at Yv sternly.
“Tell me everything!”
As Yv told him everything, he listened in silence, his eyes becoming more bloodshot. When Yv had finished, Don Krushinka sat for a few minutes in silence, then stood up, clenched his fists, and said hoarsely, “If anything happens to them ...” He didn’t finish the sentence but turned and went to the headquarters, hunched over.
The same evening, he called on Old Fart who arrived with ideas for the battle plan, and after Old Fart had left, he locked himself up until morning, trying out different options on the console.
Among them was one in which the fight for Outpost was not only with the enemy but with the entire Royal fleet as well.
The next few days did much to reduce his anxiety. Stubborn Bull explained that the transfer of the plan to him in space was at the initiative of Flagship Captain Estelle, and an official order was received from her personally just a few seconds after takeoff. Don Krushinka, who for the last ten years had been deeply involved in the hotbed of local intrigues and underhand dealings, started putting two and two together. He himself had never once tried to bang their opponents’ heads together but had seen on more than one occasion how Sandra had done it to perfection.
Eventually, after a few nights of contemplation, he set on an option which required the neutralization of only one third of the Royal fleet. Although even this seemed too much to him, but, as they say, it is better to have more than less. He would have to find a place to hold the extra combat-ready units, but it was always better to have something in reserve.
The only thing that still bothered him greatly was Estelle’s strange behavior. He had to do absolutely anything he could to return Yv to Tera.
Two days before the Mass which had been announced, he gathered a large circle together. In the evening, all the captains and squadron commanders arrived at the headquarters. Everyone in their shuttle or disc flyer carried a barrel or other container, where, at the end of the large circle they planned to pour out brandy, which had been distilled by a team on the Blasco Ninyas. When the captains were s
eated on the slopes of a small ravine, at the far end of which was there was a screen brought from the command room of the Unpleasant Surprise, Don Krushinka slowly rose from a block of wood. The hum of voices gradually died down. The admiral glanced at every face which was clearly visible in the light of the two large moons hanging in the evening sky. The microphone carried the sound of his breathing over the ravine, resembling the sound that waves make, rolling onto the shore. He immediately took the bull by the horns.
“We are in the shit, Dons,” he said gravely. “We are in deep shit. The only thing now that is not in doubt is the fact that we will be facing The Enemy, but who will be covering our backs?”
Judging by the muted reaction, his words didn’t cause any considerable surprise. Everyone waited silently for Don Krushinka to continue.
“I don’t have to tell you how many great guys lost their lives down to the fact that the parties that hired them were quarrelling over power. Something like that has started here already. But we are ready for it.” He looked around again at the ranks of captains. “Here is the cream of all the noble dons, who can now raise up the sword in defense of the faith and the glory of humanity. We have excellent ships and experienced commanders. Who, but the dons, can boast that many times they have been stabbed in the back by yesterday’s ally, but still won?” He took a breath and finished. “In three days’ time, we are off to do battle.”
Again, the answer to him was impenetrable silence. In truth, there had been no particular need for such a speech. The dons had all known this for a long time and discussed it among themselves. But the upcoming battle was no less in scale than the raid on Zovros by the Black Earl, nor the Battle of Karrash, but in both instances, the Black Earl and Thick Anselm gave a speech before the battle, so Don Krushinka thought that now his men were waiting for him to do the same. Also, he himself felt a need to express to all his comrades in arms everything that had built up in his heart.
“We have been offered a shitty plan.”
This was something they all knew already.
“Also, those to whom our arrival and stay was worse than a knife in the liver, have been working behind our back ...” Don Krushinka breathed deeply, trying to find words that could finish his speech with dignity, but nothing came to mind, and in order not to lengthen the pause he just said, “but they do not know who they are dealing with—the noble dons.”
An easy, appreciative noise ran through the ranks. Don Krushinka frowned in annoyance and thought that he should have at least sketched out his speech beforehand. He knew that he was not a good public speaker. Last night, he wasted a mountain of paper and all to no avail. His speech had been scrambled and not very good, but there was nothing to be done about that, so it was time to move on to the specifics.
“Old Fart and a dozen veterans have developed a plan that, if successful, will allow us to really fry some Scarlet arseholes.” Despite the assumption that there were no Scarlet Princes on Outpost, Don Krushinka used the usual term.
The Scarlet Princes always embodied The Enemy in the don’s eyes. “The plan is good, and by the time of departure, it will be in your ships’ command and control centers. The main thing is to put it into action instead of the rose water created by the headquarters of the fleet, but that will be my concern.” He turned to the screen and pulled out a light pen. “Now, I want you to think about this ...”
Don Krushinka began to clearly convey the disposition of the future battlefield.
By midnight, when one by one the craft had ascended and disappeared into the night sky, Don Krushinka climbed heavily up the stairs and peered into the office. There, the three heads of Yv, Console Head, and Hardball Fatlips were pouring over the console. Yv looked up at the creak of the door, gave him a detached gaze, then buried his head again in the console. Don Krushinka stood silently, looking at the bowed heads, then quietly walked out and closed the door behind him.
The success of their plan depended upon what these three were now working on, being successfully translated into reality. The fleet would never give up on the plan developed by the headquarters staff, with one exception. If the plan turned out to be unworkable and the program froze. This also would have to happen in all the backup versions.
Then Don Krushinka would offer his own plan, and he doubted that the admirals of the fleet would be so arrogant and stupid as to reject it during a battle that had already begun. He planned to activate the virus only when it was too late to retreat, although he was clearly aware of how much responsibility would fall on his shoulders.
Loss of control, even for a few minutes, could destroy the most promising of plans, and they still were not confident that even their plan would lead to victory.
Their plan was without a doubt, better than the one devised by fleet headquarters, but no one could say for sure if it would be good enough. Whatever it may be, it was the only one that gave them a chance.
That’s why the three experts were currently looking for the key to the programs protection systems to try to run a virus, and it could only be hoped that they would get a lucky break, and the infected program could be uploaded to the command centers of the ships of the fleet.
A week later, when the fleet was concentrated in parking orbit, Don Krushinka had a plan with a virus built into it. He had a feeling that a chance would arise for him to use it.
The rendezvous spot where they met with the fleet of the kingdom was no different from any other just over several light years in any direction. Nothing much to speak of, or to catch the eye. It was just a set of coordinates. Both fleets equalized speed and Don Krushinka arrived by shuttle to the flagship of the fleet of the kingdom. When the hatch swung open, he stepped on the deck of the airlock accompanied by Yv, and before them appeared the figure of Captain Umarka.
“As far as I can remember, Don, weren’t you to come alone?” she said sternly, resting a menacing look on Yv.
Don Krushinka put on the most ferocious face he could muster and barked. “This is my liaison officer! Either he goes with me, or I take myself back, but in that case, Tera will have to visit me herself onboard the Unpleasant Surprise.”
Umarka looked at him dumbfounded, then reluctantly moved aside. The heels of the don’s boots clattered down the corridor. Yv snorted his displeasure and followed behind Don Krushinka. Yesterday they had a long conversation. Yv said that Don Krushinka was just paranoid about his luck and that he was not going to step foot on the flagship, but the old Don made a compelling argument.
“I need you there,” he said. “Who else but you will be able to run our trojan horse when you have a chance?”
Yv blurted something out—why him and not Hardball Fatlips—but he knew that in such an eventuality, there would be little hope in relying on somebody so inexperienced. Nobody knew what chance they might get. Maybe the kind of chance where a sword becomes soaked in blood.
So, he had no alternative. Yv sighed and looked up. They came to a familiar door, behind which was the flagship’s control room. Don Krushinka paused for a moment, threw a glance at Yv over his shoulder, then noisily cleared his throat and stepped forward.
The control room was crowded. When the dons entered there was silence for a moment, broken only by a barely audible buzz from the equipment.
Yv’s skin felt the stares upon them. Some were of genuine interest tinged with sympathy. What the scouts had done had made a huge impression on the fleet, but most of the officers still stared at them coldly.
The dons were still strangers to them, who had turned their familiar world upside down. Many people understood that the dons’ presence was a threat to the kingdom, and they feared it. At this moment, the dons were allies, which pushed aside their other considerations, but not for everyone.
Some of the stares were just searing with anger, and one literally drilled Yv to the bone. Involuntarily, he turned his head to the side and collided with Flagship Captain Estelle’s hate-filled eyes, the depths of which, it seemed to him, burned with triumph
.
Meeting his eyes, she turned away.
The control room was again filled with the hum of muffled voices. Yv looked at Tera. For a moment it seemed to him that when their eyes met, her lips quivered, but he shook his head emphatically. Just fantasy! She remained cold and businesslike, and her lips moved only to casually say. “Sit down, gentlemen.”
They sat at a large table next to the holocube, beyond which high-ranking officers of the fleet were seated. Don Krushinka looked around at those present and frowned. Sandra was not there. This meant that things were much worse than they expected.
He and Yv had been hoping that the meeting would not start at once, and they would at least have a minute to exchange a few words with Sandra. However, storms were raging in the flagship’s control room, unseen by a stranger’s eyes, which is probably why the meeting started immediately.
Among the high command, some sort of powerful intrigue was unfolding. It was clear that both the parties to it didn’t want male outsiders to somehow become entangled in the web of intrigue, and with each passing moment, the presence of the dons on the flagship increased this probability.
This probably explained Sandra’s absence from the meeting. Likely as not, Tera was not completely in control of the situation, and the chances of realizing their plans without the help of Sandra and Tera were realistically close to zero.
Don Krushinka looked at Yv as he sat there stone-faced. No, the man was definitely making progress, turning from a successful but rustic country bumpkin into a very cunning beast.
He will show who he really is, then some of his enemies will be in big trouble.
Perhaps today was not the day to be too direct. Judging by the atmosphere, it would be a miracle if the High Command took on board even one of his proposals, but Don Krushinka’s heart was not at peace.
Swords Above the Stars Page 34